Cold Embrace
by kokoda2007
Summary: Sam wanted to escape, but the spirit held him secure in her grasp and wasn't letting go. Sam struggles with the after effects of the attack. Limp traumatised Sam.
1. Embraced

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural or the characters …

**Author's Note: **If you've followed my other fics, you'll see I've deviated a bit from the usual, but we'll see where this leads…

Firstly, I have to give credit to Vanessa at SFTCOL(AR)S who threw out the plot bunny "… would like to see a story where Sam is seduced by a ghost…" from which this fic grew.

No spoilers, this could be set anytime in Season 1 or 2. I must warn though that there are mild sexual references and a few swear words that slipped off the boys tongues (although I tried to remove most of them before posting here) so if this offends you, best to stop reading right now.

**Cold Embrace**

by Kokoda2007

**Chapter ****One**

As the dust settled, Sam rose clumsily to his feet, momentarily disorientated by the grit in his eyes and the grime in his throat. The well aimed shot may have dispersed the spirit, but it had also brought down a large chunk of ceiling in the barely standing dilapidated house.

Vision still clouded, his eyes fell on his brother who'd been a little too close to the plaster that had fallen and had taken the brunt of the impact. Dean lay still against the wall, covered in a fine layer of debris and for a moment the worst case scenario crossed Sam's panicked mind until he saw the small cloud of dust billowing with every breath Dean took.

Stepping with care, he moved towards Dean, desperate to ascertain how badly he'd been hurt. The translucent figure materialising again between himself and Dean stopped him in his tracks and he belatedly realised his mistake in failing to retrieve his weapon that lay discarded on the floor where he'd dropped it only moments before. Heart pounding heavy in his chest, he knew he needed to reach a weapon, something to defend them with, something to draw the spirit away from his fallen brother.

A small moan emanated from his brother, but he still hadn't moved and Sam's worry upped a notch.

"Hey, over here bitch," he yelled, desperate to give Dean more time …a chance.

His sigh of relief was short lived as the ghostly figure turned towards him, the smile on her face sending an eerie chill down his spine. She must have been beautiful when alive, Sam thought in the back of his mind before pushing the creepy notion away. Now her eyes echoed a hollowness filled with desperation as she sought to punish those she believed had wronged her, now her last moments of life were being prolonged even in death in some misguided and twisted way.

He took a step back in retreat, instinctively distancing himself from the grotesque silhouette yet urging her to follow and move further away from Dean.

His fingers groped at the waistband of his jeans as he stepped purposefully backwards, feeling for the knife he usually tucked there. Usually, but not today. Today it was heavy in its absence, a tool he hadn't remembered to grab in his haste to follow his brother out of the motel room. His gut instincts had been right; they'd rushed into this hunt ill prepared and too blasé, treating the local haunting with less respect than it deserved.

His well worn boot heels bumped into the wall behind him and he realised he had no where left to retreat. With no weapon in hand he felt naked and exposed, knowing it was inexcusable to have left his gun lying on the ground without another weapon to take its place. God, it was one of those cardinal rules their father had drummed into them from the moment their small hands were strong enough to carry a weapon. Now his life was being held at the mercy of some soulless spirit, and even worse, so was his brother's.

He watched as Dean shifted slowly, becoming more alert, and he wanted to yell at him to hurry the fuck up, but couldn't, not without compromising his safety.

His eyes locked with the ghostly apparition as she moved towards him without haste. He stood still and tall, a fine sheen of sweat beading his forehead, a small trickle of moisture weaving down his face.

He stared at her as she took the final few steps to reach him, hypnotised by the intensity in her eyes as they locked onto his. She was the hunter and he was her prey – caught, trapped, unable to move.

"No" he said in a choked whisper.

A delicate pale hand reached out and cupped the side of his face and he stood mesmerised, unable to twist away, a pit of revulsion rolling in his stomach at the close proximity.

He wanted to run, to escape, but invisible binds held him still, strength of will alone not enough to force his body to obey his instinct to flee. His eyes remained locked with hers and he stood rigid as the woman's hand reached up and ghosted across the exposed skin on his neck, the touch feather light and gentle as fingertips stroked his bare flesh. The fine hairs on his exposed neck rose against the gentle pressure of her fingers as a shiver ran down his spine and he tried in vain to unlock the spell she held over him and will his feet to move, to kick out …anything.

His fingers curled tightly into fists at his side.

A gentle tug pulled his head down as the woman rose of tiptoes and tilted her face to meet his. He wanted to turn away, angle his face away from hers but he involuntarily bowed his head and followed her lead.

Cool ghostly lips met his and he clenched his lips tightly closed under the onslaught, fighting the gag reflex at the back of his throat at the inhuman touch. Her lips were cold where they should have been hot, dry where they should have been moist and sweet. She kissed him with desperate fervour, like she needed him to live, to exist, to make her whole.

Her lips sent out a blast of cold ice, seeping through his body, transferring the heat from his body to hers, leeching the warmth from his skin and leaving him with small tremors running through his lanky frame.

He could feel his chest tightening as the cold spread, his heart slowing, each thump loud and strained until it became a struggle to focus on anything but the here and now as his body bowed into her embrace.

His mind, encased in his unresponsive body, wanted to fight, but she pressed closer still, her whole body aligning with his, forcing him back against the wall.

He was freezing, the blood thickening in his veins, moving too slow to warm his body.

Her hands came into full devastating contact with his skin, sending a ripple down his spine. Cold caressing hands ran down body, lifting the frayed edges of his shirt and burrowing under the fabric made soft from too many washes.

He felt repulsed and violated all at once, body locked in a prison with a mind that was free.

He held himself rigid as she moved against him, agile fingers tracing the taunt lines of his flat abdomen before moving up and stroking over his chest, trailing over every ridge and dip in muscle, taking her time exploring under the rucked up shirt.

Tension filled him further as he felt one hand wander lower and more than anything he wanted to break free from his enforced prison and push her away.

Desperate lips pressed against his harder, pushing his head hard against the wall until the rough brickwork scraped his scull and he wanted to yell for her to stop, to tell her 'no'. Whatever had happened to her in life, whatever harm she'd endured, it wasn't him, he wasn't responsible …it wasn't his fault.

Icy fingertips traced along the line where rough denim met firm flesh, exploring and dipping below the waistband. He wanted to cry out with shame as his body responded.

Oh god, no no no…. he chanted silently as his eyes swept the room looking for any escape, coming to rest on the unfocused gaze of his brother stirring against the far wall.

He watched mesmerised as Dean grappled for the shotgun lying by his side and wanted to yell at him to just shoot already, uncaring if he was in the line of fire. Time seemed to come to a standstill as Dean pushed himself up, raised the shotgun, took aim and fired. The blast reverberated through the room and he felt the impact of small pellets of rock salt, his proximity to the target too close to come away unscathed.

As the woman's figure dispersed, the release on his entombed body was instantaneous and with no force to keep him upright he slid down the wall and sank to the floor.

Taking the first full lungful of air in what felt like forever he struggled to catch his breath, wiping a sleeve over his mouth to remove invisible traces of the woman. His whole body throbbed with pain, sensation slowly coming back to his cold limbs.

Concern for his brother and fear that the woman would return spurred him to his feet. Using the wall for support he stood on shaky legs as he waited for his body to regain its natural balance.

Making his way over to his brother, he leant a hand on his brother's shoulder, as much to steady his shaky legs as a sign of comfort. Seeing the fine line of blood seeping from below Dean's hairline he tilted his brother's face up towards his own.

"You okay?" He asked; voice thick and rough.

"Yeah …was just ah enjoying the floor show."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Sam held two fingers in front of Dean's face, hoping his brother wouldn't notice their slight shake.

"Fingers? …Two …God Sam, hope I didn't break anything up."

"Fuck you Dean."

"Nah, think it was you she had her sights set on Sammy boy….So ah, what did it feel like?"

"You're kidding me right?"

"What …ah, so Sammy doesn't kiss 'n tell."

"What are you, like thirteen Dean?"

"I'm just saying, from my angle, it looked like she slipped her tongue…"

"From your angle Dean? If you'd gotten your ass off the floor a bit sooner and…"

"And what? Ruin your first bit of action in …how long Sam?"

"Can you get your mind out of the gutter for one minute …we gotta find her bones …salt and burn her sorry ass back to hell before she drops in for a repeat performance."

"Huh, twice in one night…"

"I swear to god, if you didn't already have a head injury I'd give you one." Sam bent down and picked up his discarded gun.

**oooOOOooo**

Two hours later Sam stepped under the warm spray of the shower, letting the heat from the water wash some of the residual chill from his body.

He'd waited and let Dean have first shower, wanting to clean and dress the small scalp wound on the top of his brother's head. This time Dean had come away lucky, sporting only a killer headache and a few scrapes and bruises that he'd snubbed off as nothing.

After the first up close and personal encounter with the ghost they'd been on high alert as they'd searched the abandoned house and grounds for her body, finally finding it in a small marked grave at the rear of the property. She'd made a couple more appearances, trying again to get her hands on Sam to finish what she'd started, but they'd managed to ward her off each time with a well placed blast of rock salt. He didn't think he could have gone another round with her, but wasn't going to admit to Dean how much the encounter had affected him – that would just be giving his brother too much ammunition to work with.

He let the water flow over his skin, washing away all traces of the night.

When the water ran cold he finally stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist, using another to wipe away the excess moisture from his body. After brushing his teeth and pulling on a clean pair of sweats he made his way back into the bedroom, climbing into his bed with a sigh of exhaustion. Relieved to see that Dean was already in bed, he pulled his covers up to his chin and tried to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress and coarse sheets.

"You know Sammy, next time you want a bit of action, make sure they're breathing and…."

"Go to sleep Dean." Sam interrupted, too tired to deal with his brother's twisted sense of humor.

"You know, maybe she just picked up on all your repressed sexuality."

"Dean."

"I'm just saying…"

"'Night Dean."

A choked chuckle emanated from the adjacent bed. "Night John-boy."

"…Kinda kinky, you know, getting it on with a dead chick." Dean just couldn't help mutter a last retort, disappointed that the dark hid the blush he knew would be staining his brother's skin and thereby saving Sam from further ridicule.

"Shut up and go to sleep Dean."

Sam closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him, hugging the blankets close.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam shifted restlessly in his sleep as dreams assaulted his weary body. Phantom fingers trailed over his skin, leaving a trail of cold in their wake. He pulled the covers in closer around himself to fight off the chill coursing through his body.

Images shifted in his mind. A pale face leaning into him, pressing down, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. A cold hand sweeping across his chest ...icy fingers embracing the back of his neck.

He jerked awake, freeing himself from the vivid dream. He couldn't help but look around; making sure the figure from his nightmare wasn't in the room, beside him, touching him. His eyes rested on his brother, snoring softly in the next bed, and he released his pent up breath, willing the tension leave his body.

Just a nightmare.

Exhaustion soon dragged him under again, sleep claiming his body, nightmares invading his dreams.

Despite the mild weather he couldn't seem to get warm.

**oooOOOooo**

**Author's Note:** Hope the rating was appropriate. Please let me know if you think it should be changed.

I haven't marked this fic as completed – still deciding whether to leave it as is or to keep going with a bit of hurt/sick Sam as a consequence of the hunt …but I fear it will then be just like other fics I've written. Reviews, criticisms and advice appreciated! Bit out of my comfort zone with this one.


	2. Released

**Author's Note: **Thank you everyone for the reviews. Many people asked for a second chapter, so _finally_ here it is – for some reason this was just 'hard' to write, so apologies for the delay in posting.

**Chapter 2**

Five days later, one more successful hunt under their belts and Sam just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

He stirred the runny eggs on his plate as he watched his brother shovel another heaped forkful of bacon into his mouth. A small drop of grease ran from the corner of Dean's mouth as he struggled to chew and he cringed as Dean wiped it away on the back of his hand before wiping his hand down the leg of his jeans. Now it was definitely time they stopped to do some laundry.

He pushed his own bacon to the side, opting instead to pick up the limp piece of toast before it soaked up any more of the runny egg yolk spreading across his plate.

"You eating that?" Dean asked, snagging a piece of bacon off his plate.

"Nah, all yours."

His stomach rolled as he sat opposite his brother, watching as Dean engrossed himself with eating as much food as he could with minimal chewing.

He tried to hide his relief when Dean deemed it time to leave, having demolished every morsel on the plate in front oh him. It might be only mid-morning, but after an exhaustive night he was more than ready to hit the sack. Laundry could wait.

"Finished?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"You've barely touched you food."

"Think you've eaten enough for the both of us."

Dean gave his brother an assessing appraisal. "You okay?"

"Come on Dean, it's been a long night, right now all I wanna do is sleep."

"Yeah, you look like crap …little beauty sleep wouldn't go astray."

"You looked in the mirror lately?"

"Don't need to Sammy, 'm still pulling the ladies."

Sam couldn't stifle the small laugh. "Ladies? ...dude, you're using the term a little loosely don't ya think."

"Hey, at least they're breathing."

The tired smile dropped from Sam's face as he turned away and headed out the door.

**oooOOOooo**

Sleep didn't come easy.

His body was exhausted but his mind refused to rest. Every time he closed his eyes he could feel her - reaching out to him, pressing her body against his, pressing him back into the wall, cold hands running over his skin. Try as he might he just couldn't let it go.

An involuntary shiver swept across his body and he shifted uneasily in the bed, looking across at his brother's relaxed pose in envy.

"Dean?"

"Mmmm?"

"I think maybe there's something wrong with me."

"Come again?"

"Come on Dean, you don't think it was a little freaky …what happened in that house?"

"What the hell are you talking about Sam?"

"You said it yourself Dean …you know, how I always seem to attract dead chicks ...the woman in white, that zombie chick who broke my hand, and lets not forget Meg."

"Sam, you _see dead people_, it doesn't get much freakier than that."

"Ah …just forget it."

"Seriously dude, you just need to get out more …get a little action."

"Yeah, whatever."

"…You know, technically, Meg wasn't dead."

"Thanks Dean, I feel so much better now."

Dean's barely suppressed chuckle echoed through the room.

Sam turned on his side and pulled the covers in closer.

**oooOOOooo**

With their next likely job in a small town eight hours drive away, Dean took to the task of getting them there in the shortest possible time with his usual single minded purpose.

Sam didn't want to whine, but he would have appreciated a couple more stops along the way. In Dean's mind, the only reason for stopping was to fill his 'baby' with gas or to grab something to eat, two tasks he could usually undertake at the one stop.

His whole body ached and he suspected he was coming down with a cold, maybe the flu. Looking at the clear sky and the sun glistening off the windscreen made the prospect of a cold so much worse. At least when it was miserable and dreary he felt somewhat justified in staying indoors, bundling up in blankets and keeping the chill at bay.

With a bit of luck and a few pills he was hoping he could nip his cold in the bud before it hit him full force. He glanced across at his brother, tempted to suggest that they take a few days off, but he knew the suggestion would come with a hefty price. Dean would probe and question him until he finally relented into revealing that he didn't feel great, and then Dean would fuss and worry and confine him to a dingy motel room until he deemed him healthy enough to be let out. He wasn't quite ready to go down that path yet.

"Room or food first?" Dean asked as he took the turn-off from the highway towards their destination.

"Whatever." Sam opened his eyes and looked at the rural landscape whizzing past.

The sun was already low in the sky so chances were their eating options would be limited in a town this size.

He cringed as Dean pulled the Impala to a stop beside a bustling bar, the town's main hub of activity after dark if the noise and crowd was anything to judge by.

"Lets grab ourselves a few beers and see if we can't scrounge up a couple of burgers or something." Enthusiasm oozed from Dean as he cut the ignition.

"Yeah …or something…" Sam mumbled, following his brother.

Sam reckoned half the town was in the bar and he couldn't help but wonder if there was a festival or something on that they'd missed the signs for. Pushing through the crowd, his eyes were drawn to the large banner hung on the far wall, wishing 'Ron' a happy birthday. Guess that explained it then.

He took the beer that Dean passed him, enjoying the feel of the first cool mouthful of liquid as it slid down his sore throat.

He resigned himself to following Dean's lead, seeing no chance of them leaving the bar in the next little while, not with the display on the dance floor that Dean couldn't peel his eyes from.

He kept close to Dean's back as his brother weaved through the crowd, forcing down the feeling of suffocation as bodies pressed against his, the heat stifling and the noise deafening. As someone pressed against his back he couldn't suppress the flinch that ran through his body as he eased himself away, desperate to escape.

He took a few quick gulps of his beer, nearly careening into Dean's back as he came to a sudden halt.

"Hey, check it out." Dean gestured towards two women standing a few feet away, not waiting for Sam's reply as he adjusted their course towards the intended conquests.

The night suddenly got a whole lot longer, Sam thought, as he shadowed his brother.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam tried to think of a polite way to tell the attractive brunette that he just wasn't interested. Every time he eased away she followed, pressing against him, stretching up to whisper nonsense in his ear. He scanned the area for Dean, hoping for a rescue, but his brother had disappeared a good twenty minutes ago and was no where to be seen.

He was going to kill Dean when he found him.

His head was throbbing in time with the music now, its beat consistent and unrelenting. He regretted the couple of beers he'd had on an empty stomach knowing they were contributing to the vague feeling of nausea growing in proportion to his pounding head.

He took a step towards the exit but an arm snaked around his middle, pulling him back. Memories pushed to the surface and he felt a moment of panic as the unfamiliar hand massaged the bare strip of flesh at his waist where his shirt rode up. He jerked out of her grasp with more force than was necessary as his breath hitched in his throat. He needed to get away.

The air in the bar was stifling and the crowd seemed to converge, hindering his escape. He tried to focus on the closest exit sign as he shoved forwards, desperate to reach the fresh air outside.

He pushed out of the side exit door with such force that he nearly sent himself sprawling on the gravel outside. Stumbling to the closest wall he leant his back against it, taking in large lungfuls of crisp evening air. As the energy left his body, weariness washed over him and he slid down until his legs were stretched out in front and his head hung low towards his chest. He was exhausted.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean watched his companion as she sashayed her way to the 'little girls room'. He'd lost sight of his younger brother a while back and only hoped that Sam was having as much fun as he was. For a small town, this place sure knew how to party.

Pulling out his cell, he speed dialled his brother, praying that his call wasn't going to be too inopportune in timing.

When Sam didn't answer on the first couple of rings a smile spread across his face. At last, he thought, maybe his little brother was taking his advice and getting some action. When the call went through to voicemail he hung up. Keeping an eye on the door to the ladies room, he waited a moment and dialled Sam again. When he went through to voicemail again he pushed aside the small niggle of worry and left his brother a short message telling him to have fun and asking him to call.

**oooOOOooo**

The shrill ring of his phone intruded into his subconscious but it wasn't enough to force Sam to move. When it rang again he instinctively felt around in his pocket for the offending phone but abandoned the search when it stopped ringing.

He pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them before resting his head down on their firm strength. His headache refused to let up.

A warm bed and a quiet room were at the top of his 'want' list but he couldn't bring himself to move just yet. Days of physically pushing himself coupled with lack of sleep were taking their toll and his reserves were close to rock bottom if not already completely drained.

The loud bang of a door slamming in the distance broke through his reprieve, shaking him to sudden awareness. Taking a few deep breaths he tried to steady his breathing and get himself under control. His body felt stiff and cold and he realised he must have nodded off.

Pushing himself to his feet took a little more effort than it should have. He just hoped that Dean was still in the bar and hadn't already left to spend the night with his latest hook-up, taking the keys to the Impala with him. The prospect of walking around a strange town looking for a motel room wasn't appealing.

Stepping around the side of the building he spotted the Impala parked exactly where they'd left it and he breathed out a sigh of relief. Now he just needed to locate Dean. Not up to facing the inside of the bar again, he made his way over to the car, dialling his brother as he walked.

"Hey Sam…"

"Dean …are you ah …you getting a motel room tonight or…"

"What? Worried about sharing?"

"God Dean, no."

Dean looked down at the girl attached to his side. "If you want a little privacy just give me the word …I'm sure I can keep myself occupied …no problem at all."

Sam heard the feminine giggle through the phone.

"Dean, I…"

"Don't sweat it Sam, have fun, be safe, I'll see you in the morning." Dean disconnected the call with a smile on his face.

Sam listened to the flat dial tone for a moment before slipping the phone back into his pocket. _Just great._

**oooOOOooo**

Heart pounding heavy in his chest, Sam jerked awake from the nightmare.

He remembered checking-in to the small non-descript motel about a mile from the bar, but he didn't remember getting onto the bed or falling asleep. He looked around the room, lit with an eerie glow from the neon signage outside, his eyes coming to rest on the other bed. He felt uncomfortably insecure not having Dean asleep in the nearby bed, not that he'd openly admit that fact.

Sitting up, he brushed his fingers through his hair. A deep cough racked his frame, a persistent rattle settling in his chest as it rose and fell with each breath. He felt like crap.

Kicking off his boots and shedding his jacket, he pulled aside the covers and climbed back into bed. He regretted not taking the Impala or at least getting his duffle and a few aspirin before leaving the bar.

Pulling the covers tight he fell into a restless sleep.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean watched his brother sleep, concern etched on his face. It had been easy to find Sam, the town only had a couple of motels and this was not only the cheapest, but the closest one to the bar. A discreet enquiry and well placed smile secured him the room number and a few minutes later he was quietly slipping inside.

Sam didn't wake.

A quick glance confirmed his new found suspicion that Sam had been the room's only occupant. So much for his worry that he'd 'interrupt' his brother – the lying bastard.

The realisation that Sam was sick hit him a moment later. A light sheen of sweat covered Sam's forehead and he mumbled occasional nonsense as he shifted restlessly under the covers.

If he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that he'd been kind of expecting this. His brother had been pushing his food around on his plate for the last week rather than eating, and if anything, his sleeping patterns were more irregular than usual.

With a sigh he went back to the Impala and retrieved their bags and the first aid kit. They'd be staying put for a few days at least; the job could wait.

Grabbing the thermometer from their kit, he moved to the side of Sam's bed. That his brother was running a fever was a sure thing but somehow by going through the process of taking a reading it made it more real.

Dean brushed aside Sam's hair from his ear and inserted the thermometer.

"No." Sam mumbled.

"Shhhh …'m just taking your temperature …you feel a little hot there kiddo."

"D…ean?" Sam slurred.

"Yeah, the one and only."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, still me, in the flesh." Dean removed the thermometer. "Definitely a little warm …I'm just gonna get you a little ice, cool you down a bit, okay?"

"…'kay."

He gave Sam a reassuring squeeze on the arm before slipping from the room to get the ice, returning just minutes later with a tub of ice cubes in one hand.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me ...again"

"Don't go." Sam whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere Sam."

Pulling off the bed covers, he tugged Sam up until he was sitting against the headboard. "You weigh a goddam ton little bother."

"…'m sorry."

"Let's just get a few of these layers off okay?" Dean started unbuttoning his brother's shirt.

"No." Sam pushed him away.

"Sam, we've gotta cool you down." Dean eased the shirt off and tossed it aside.

"No, please …don't."

Dean reached down to Sam's belt buckle. "Could use a little help here Sam," he muttered.

Sam's breath hitched in his throat and he threw out a fist, catching Dean on the side of the face.

"God dammit Sam." He growled.

"Dean?"

"Who the hell else would it be?"

"I thought…" Sam rocked forward. "I'm sorry."

Dean held his brother steady and leant in close. "You with me now?"

Sam nodded.

"Right, lets get these jeans off and get you settled …okay?"

With a bit of manoeuvring he got Sam's jeans off, fed him a few Tylenol and lay him back down. Wrapping some ice in fresh towels, he placed it strategically around his brother, hoping it would do the trick and reduce Sam's fever before it rose any further.

As Sam settled back into slumber, he made himself comfortable on the other bed. Deep in thought he watched his brother. He'd nursed Sam through numerous fevers over the years, but never before had Sam hit him, delirious or not.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean spent two long days pumping his brother full of fluids and pills and listening to Sam's monologue as the fever worked itself free from his body. One thing with Sam was always a certain, drunk or fevered, he always revealed his inner thoughts, giving Dean a clear insight into what was going on inside his head.

Only when Sam finally kept down a full bowl of soup did he feel able to relax his guard, reassured that he was on the road to recovery, physically at least.

"Sam?"

Sam looked up at his brother.

"I reckon this has gone on long enough."

"What?"

"You …not sleeping, the nightmares…"

"I'm fi…"

"Don't give me that 'I'm fine' bullshit…" Dean snapped before reigning in his temper and bringing his voice back to an even keel. "You wanna talk about it?" He asked nonchalantly.

Sam took a deep breath, let it out slowly and nodded. "Yeah."

**end **


End file.
